


Hibikase

by Xairathan



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-28 21:39:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15715590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xairathan/pseuds/Xairathan
Summary: In DiZ and Riku's absence from the mansion, Xion arrives, just as Namine wanted.





	Hibikase

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Haza_Souz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haza_Souz/gifts).



A door made of shadow opens in the corner of Namine’s room as soon as DiZ has left the mansion, just as she drew it out. She slips a hint of feigned surprise into her smile anyway, watching little wisps of darkness swirl in the dissolving wake of Xion’s entrance.

“He just left,” Namine says, watching Xion curl her fingers around her hood and push it back. “He’s buying some things he’ll need. He won’t be back for a while.”

“He left you by yourself?” A rustling of fabric tells Namine that Xion has joined her by the window, surveying the empty grounds. The trees at the edge of the forest have just begun to change their colors from verdant green to gold, a hint that summer will be soon upon them.

Namine tilts her head away from Xion, eyeing her room’s closed door. Through there is the table she spends her days sitting at, drawing Sora’s memories back together, a task that is nowhere near complete. “I can’t leave this place yet,” she murmurs, and hears Xion shuffle closer. They both know the unspoken future that must come to pass; that the reality that Namine will finally be released into, if it happens at all, cannot contain Xion.

Warm fingers lace themselves between Namine’s slender ones: Xion’s taken off her gloves. A lift of her shoulder indicates the bed against the opposite wall. “Come on.” Xion tugs at Namine’s hand, pulling her away from the window. “Take your mind off things.”

“Yes,” Namine says, the only thing she needs to say. She crosses the room, Xion a step behind her, and lets Xion wrap both arms around her waist and bear her onto the bed. Xion slides herself out of her coat with a yank on the zipper, leaving it at the foot of the bed. Namine’s hands rise to her shoulders, tracing the gentle dip of her collarbones; below that, against her palm, quickens the fluttering of Xion’s heart.

“It’s still the same, right?” Xion asks. Namine tilts her head, confused, and hears Xion’s mumbled question. “Do I still look the same?”

“Of course.” Namine leans closer, plants a kiss on the side of Xion’s neck. Everything is as she remembers it, as she’d drawn it, for now. The pressure of Xion’s body against her is real, as is the knee that grinds against the peak of her legs, the gasp that leaves her mouth. The shoulders she grips for support are lean and tense, but the touch that traverses Namine’s waist is nothing but gentle. Namine tilts her head back, bares her neck to Xion, tells herself she’ll remember this. If she didn’t- if she forgot everything about Xion, and what they’d done- it would speak as much to who Namine is as to much of Xion really is just Sora.

“Namine?”

The sound of Xion’s voice startles Namine, unraveling the tautness built up in her chest. Her partner’s hand rests lightly on the bare skin of her waist, having slipped beneath the thin fabric of her dress. Their eyes meet, blue to blue, Xion lowering her head until their foreheads touch.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Namine says to the question she knows Xion will ask. One of her hands slides to cradle Xion’s head, the tips of her hair tickling her fingers. This too, she tells herself, is proof that things will turn out fine. Xion’s identity may be drawn from Sora’s, and her appearance from Kairi’s, but living alongside those are Xion’s memories, irrevocably her own. Namine is too familiar with what fake memories feel like, and Xion’s are real; the two of them, here in this room in spite of everything, are real, and not for the first time Namine wonders if their feelings are real, too.

She finds she doesn’t want to know. A little pressure catches Xion off balance, rolls her onto her side. Namine moves on top of her, the hem of her dress caressing Xion’s thighs, a glimmer behind her eyes that seems both novel and familiar at once. A pocket of heat churns in Xion’s stomach as Namine lays herself flat, her lips near Xion’s ear, and whispers, “Thought we could try something new.” And Xion finds herself nodding, not because this is new for both of them, but because it’s Namine.

She starts with the neck, like Xion does. Her kisses are softer, urgent in their own way, seeking as if by nature the places that make Xion squirm and twist her head and dig the heels of her palms into the sheets. They travel, like Xion’s tend to do, along the dip between her breasts, before veering off to one side. Namine’s lips and a hint of teeth fasten around her nipple, and Xion’s vision fills with patches of light, silver against the white ceiling. The heat that suffuses her body is as palpable as Namine’s hands, gliding down her sides, hook into the elastic of her panties and pull them down.

“Namine,” Xion murmurs, whispering her name to the ceiling. She’s done it before, alone in her room with her own fingers buried inside herself, but it’s different here. The hum of Namine’s response resonates against her skin; a pair of lips touch hers and linger for one, two breaths; Namine’s face passes briefly before hers, and Xion seizes her cheeks and kisses her again.

They come back down hard against the bed, all pretense of decorum gone. Namine slides free of Xion’s grasp, plants her hands on her hips, presses down on her legs. There’s enough time for Xion to take a breath before Namine’s fingers run over her folds, slick with anticipation. A faint moan slips through her clenched teeth and lingers in the air between them. A smile, too wide to be mistaken for anything else, flickers across Namine’s face, and again the room is filled with light.

Namine’s fingers press up and into Xion, who twists to the side, burying her flushed face into a pillow. She cants her hips down into Namine’s hand, groans when Namine’s knuckles push back against her. Namine’s name passes over Xion’s lips, repeated in hushed gasps. The warmth from her body surges forth with every motion of Namine’s hand, a heat so intense that this moment between them must be seared into the walls around them, into reality itself.

“Namine,” Xion says again, tugging at her wrist. In the instant that Namine pauses, lifting her eyes to Xion’s face, Xion drags herself back with her arms, sitting up against the back of the bed. Namine answers this with a knowing smile, moving forward on her knees to straddle Xion’s lap. Their hands, unconsciously, mimic one another’s: Xion draws hers down Namine’s stomach, between her legs. Their gazes meet; Namine's teeth sink softly into her lower lip, and she slowly descends upon the outstretched fingers of Xion's waiting hand.

Namine slumps forward with a whisper of Xion's name. She presses her face into the side of Xion's neck, and is answered with a kiss and the gentle stirring of Xion's fingers within her. She's reminded why Xion was usually the one to initiate things, and in a sense still is- her knees dig into the sides of Xion's legs in an attempt to gain some traction, drawing their bodies together. Xion squirms beneath her, a ragged break in her breathing and the slight tremor of her thighs reminding Namine that she'd started this, after all. With another kiss to the peak of Xion's shoulder, she draws her hand back, drives it back in-

Xion, caught off guard, fails to stifle the cry that leaves her throat, resonating through the room and its surroundings, and perhaps the hall outside. She raises her hand to meet the next downward twitch of Namine's hips, thumb rolling across damp skin in search of the raised bump of Namine's clit. When she finds it, Namine presses them closer together, her frantic gasping the cadence to which Xion sets the motion of her fingers, and which Namine answers with her own. Amidst all this, Xion doesn't know whether she imagines her lips moving, forming words which she's only dreamed of saying to Namine until now; she doesn't hear Namine's reply, but feels her lips moving against her skin, and the heat from her stomach leaps into her chest with only a curl of Namine's fingers and that answer.

Then Namine speaks something that Xion does hear- her name, whispered low and quick, a plea and an admission wrapped up in one word. Xion nods beside her, shoulders pressed against the headboard, back lifted in a slight arch away from it. She touches her lips to Namine's temple, to her cheek, and feels the moment when Namine shudders around her, slamming her free hand against the wall. She holds Namine as she trembles, her breaths coming in rapid-fire gasps; she feels Namine's fingers shiver in her depths, and with a final downward roll of her hips Xion's world, too, becomes filled with sparks of silver. And she knows, as she calls for Namine and tightens her grip around Namine's waist, that Namine is as much a part of her as she says Sora is, and that she might be right that a part of her could yet remain even after Sora's memories are returned.

For a long moment, the room is silent: Namine rests in Xion's arms, stilled at last, and the only motion is the slow, repeated traveling of Xion's fingers through Namine's hair. Through the thin layer of Namine's skin comes her pulse, slowing gradually, its own subtle reminder that if they have hearts in the physical sense, then perhaps it isn't too far-fetched to believe they could have real hearts as well.

Eventually Namine rolls herself off Xion, nestling in the sheets beside her. Their gazes meet, but this time Xion breaks the connection, averting her eyes elsewhere- to the walls, plastered with pictures. They're mostly of Sora, lined up in what Xion assumes is the order his memories belong in, but in the corners and high places away from the incessant stream of pictures of Sora are other images. There's Roxas and his keyblade, and Axel with his flame-red hair, and in the corner closest to the bed is a portrait of herself. The details of her face are indistinct, a side effect of only having crayons to work with, but it's unmistakably hers.

"I promised I'd try and remember," Namine says. Xion shakes her head and shuts her eyes, curling up and pulling her limbs closer. "If you still want me to."

"I do."

"Did you want one?" She must be speaking of the pictures, Xion thinks.

"It's okay." And even if she had wanted one, there might not be enough time left for Namine to draw it, not with so many of Sora's memories still left to stitch together. “I should go soon,” Xion murmurs, eyes still closed. “I don’t want Axel to come looking for me again.”

“You don’t have to go back.” Namine moves across the bed, cradles Xion’s hands in hers like she would her crayons, or a precious memory.

“If I don’t, Roxas will…”

They both fall silent, and pretend that whatever happens to Roxas won’t have to happen to Xion either way, too. Namine scoots closer, the gap between them vanishing, and rests her head next to Xion’s.

“Can you try to remember me?”

Xion speaks so softly that Namine finds herself wondering if she’d really heard anything. But she nods, whispers back, “Of course I will”, and watches Xion draw herself in closer. “I’ll figure something out,” she says, as much a plea as a promise. Xion bobs her head in something resembling a nod, shoulders slumping. The heavy breath that leaves her speaks of exhaustion, and that here at Namine’s side is the place where rest can find her.

Namine draws the sheets over Xion’s shoulders, settling in beside her. She imagines, in the aftermath of it all, that she’d draw Xion out from her memories and back where she should be. She imagines they’d find a beach on another world and stay there together, away from everyone else. For now, she presses her lips to the quivering curve of Xion’s neck, and tells herself that this will suffice for the both of them.


End file.
